The 'Do Over'concept...

I am about to make chicken soup.  It's in response to a request from Ralph, but it's also a wonderful avoidance activity.  Every time I have promised myself (and others) that I am going to do some bit of housework or tidying I have avoided for a while, I have found some other semi-worthwhile activity to delay doing the original, highly disliked activity. So far, this has consisted of ironing and more ironing and even at a pinch, cleaning some windows.  Lately sewing is coming high on the list, but I'm running out of things to repair.

So, to get back to making chicken soup - I know mine is good, but it isn't nearly as good as the memory of my mother's is.  I say that knowing that the memory of it may be much better than the reality of the actual soup.  I have nostalgic moments when I can recall my mother skimming her soup to make sure that there  were no golden globules of fat floating at the top.  Recently I read an article by a Jewish cookery writer in which she remembered her mother's soup and one of the things she mentioned was the yellow drops of fat at the top of the soup.  Yuk - all I can say is she didn't skim enough.  My mother removed that fat from her soup like it was the spawn of Satan and she certainly did make a great pot  of chicken soup.

So today, by way of major procrastination,  I cooked, I went for a walk, I went out to lunch, I did some laundry, I cleared the kitchen, I had two naps, watched my favourite movie and did not clear the junk accumulated over months, if not years, in my bedroom.  Ralph has as his goal to make our room a Zen paradise.  Fine, I say, as long as Zen paradises look like a hermit has lived in it and collected assorted 'chazerei' (yiddish for junk or garbage) for the past 20 years.

I am in danger of just throwing my hands up in horror and resigning myself to throwing everything away.  This is by far the easiest option.  I am such a collector that within a few months I will have replaced most of what I have thrown out and probably never notice the difference.  I exaggerate a bit.  We did make a  start on one corner of the room today and I happily discovered a pair of trousers I had been searching for for months, a box of  old photographs and at least seven handbags.  What??? Seven handbags??? And I didn't even notice I had them,or at least I haven't missed them. This is why I believe I could throw it all  away and not miss much.

The more I explore this idea, the more I like it.  Remember when we were kids and we had fights with our best friends or we lost a game of tag, we asked if we could 'have a do over'? If we could start again?  Sometimes I even do this now, when I have a really pointless argument at home and see that there was no basis for my outrageous behaviour, I will then say, 'let's start this all over again' and we generally have a more congenial conversation.  What if I were to do this with all the things I have accumulated over the years?

I could start by keeping a bare minimum of clothing, one useful handbag, perhaps three or four pairs of shoes and a bit of jewelry.  This would free me from the psycholgical burdens of having more  shoes than I can remember, so many handbags I have nowhere  to store them and more jewelry than most shops stock.  I could throw away all those beautiful scraps of Japanese silk I have collected over the years in case I want to make some major work of art.  I would chuck out all  the Chinese brushes and paints and paper that I hoard in case of artistic inspiration.  Jars of wonderful beads could be disposed of, dreams of necklaces and bracelets to be made jettisoned once and for all.  Photographs spanning my lifetime and those of my parents could be junked to make space for... space.

No, I'm not going to do any of these things.  I am not throwing away my future plans to be creative or my past in the form of photographic memories.  The idea of starting with a clear space is attractive and even sort of possible, but it is not me at all.  I am a collector - of people and things and memories and friendships and recipes and stuff.  It makes me who I am.  Not the things per se, but the collecting and the gathering things in close to me. I love collecting and hunting for interesting stuff all over the world. I like a crowded life.

When I reach the end of my life, I know that I will look back and not for one minute will I regret not having cleared my room.  Afterall, hospitals are Zen spaces and I hate those.  My home is a circus, a carnival and a mad fiesta.  I will clear my space tomorrow, but for now, TV beckons.

By the way, the chicken soup with matzo balls was super.